Page 26 of Saviors

“I grew up in the system.” He spoke casually, like it didn’t matter. But my fragile heart splintered for him. “I picked my own name when I aged out.”

I was feeling bad for myself while Maverick’s upbringing was worse. Foolish of me to think because he had money that meant he had an ideal life.

“What did you pick?”

“Smith.”

“Why Maverick?”

“I liked Top Gun.”

His answer was so shocking, a fit of giggles overtook me. His deep chuckle sank into my chest. Soothed the aches.

I was surprised I could still smile. One more thing to be grateful for. One more thing I owed these men.

Maverick moved to a nearby bench. Picking up a water he took a sip. I followed, sitting on the open space at the end. I watched as he tore off the red tinted tape on his hands. He grabbed a roll that was bright white and re-taped them.

It was memorizing watching him work. There was a clear routine that he’d must have practiced over years. The tape slipped in between scarred knuckles and calloused fingers. An unfamiliar warmth settled in my gut.

“What about Connor and Reid?” I crossed my legs, tucking them under myself. “Who are you to each other? Friends? Business partners?”

Maybe they’d already told me, but I’d forgotten. Last night was still a fog in my memory.

He walked back to the mat and laid down. His biceps bulged as he tucked them behind his head. His abs bunched as he brought his elbows to his knees in a crunch. “Brothers.”

My brow furrowed as I thought about Reid’s bright blue eyes and Connor’s blonde hair. “You don’t look alike.”

“We wouldn’t. We don’t share any DNA.” He wasn’t even winded as he continued to exercise as he explained. “We met in juvie when we were teenagers. We were alone. No family in the world, so we became each other’s family.”

I guess they weren’t the saints I was picturing them to be. Was anyone who I thought they were?

My throat tightened. Instead of leaning into the despair, I asked him more questions. “Why did you end up in juvie?”

His mouth tipped, showing that dimple again. “A story for another time.”

My own lips moved, mirroring his half smile. “Why were Connor and Reid there?”

He sat up, his forearms resting on his knees. The veins in his arms popped out, highlighting the dark ink that wrapped around his skin. It captivated my attention. I wanted to trace it with my fingers. Learn each of their meanings. I craved knowledge about my saviors, like I craved the air in my lungs. “Not my story to tell.”

“Okay, can you tell me their last names, then?”

“Reid Turner. Connor West.”

He pushed off the ground. My gaze was locked on all the muscles, twisting and rippling. His movement was so fluid.

He was obviously confident in himself. I wished I could be like that. Wished I had an inner strength to hang on to. But all I had was fear. Agony. Betrayal.

Maverick moved to the punching bag. It rattled on the chains as he hit it. Again and again. It was clear he needed to change the subject. Neither of us wanting to dwell on our painful past.

“It’s like two in the afternoon.” I said, giving him a new topic. “Don’t you work?”

“We’ll go to our club in a couple of hours.”

“You own it?”

The bag rattled again, but his gaze connected with mine in the mirror. His expression was open. He was letting me pick him apart as if he knew I needed it because I couldn’t look at myself right now. Couldn’t analyze what had happened to me.

“With my brothers.”

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